A Moment of Escape

Our house was swarming with men in black—stern-faced, silent, and armed with heavy rifles slung across their chests. They were everywhere. At the front gate, the far corners of the fields, even near the chicken coops. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. Like shadows that never left, always watching. Always waiting.

Mom once said, "It's normal to have guards when you run a farm this big."

Right. Normal. Because watermelons clearly need elite protection.

I let out a quiet laugh at the thought, though even my own voice sounded strange in the silence of the hall.

Stepping out of my room, I paused—head slightly tilted, eyes scanning left and right. The hallway stretched ahead like something out of a magazine: polished mahogany floors gleaming like glass, cream walls bathed in morning light, their surface interrupted only by gold-framed family portraits and antique sconces. The sunlight pouring through the tall windows cast long, warm beams across the floor, catching the light of the crystal chandelier above, making it shimmer like dew.

Every inch of the farmhouse whispered wealth—not flashy or modern, but the quiet kind. The kind built over time. You could feel it in the carved oak of the staircase, in the weight of the silence, in the way the walls seemed to hold their breath.

I moved with careful steps, heading down the stairs, each creak echoing louder than I wanted. The kitchen was empty—thank God. I went straight for the drawer by the counter, where the car keys were kept. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled it open.

Three sets.

Which one?

I smiled to myself and picked the one with the little pink flower keychain. Definitely Mom's.

I closed the drawer slowly, quietly. No sudden movements. My heart thumped harder with every passing second.

I remembered how Kenny, one of the nicer guards, had taught me to drive when I turned sixteen. That was Mom's gift—lessons around the property, but never beyond the gates. Never into the world beyond the walls of fruit trees and fences.

At the front door, two guards stood like statues, black uniforms blending into the shadows. Their guns glinted in the morning light.

"Hi! Mom told me to let you know she's heading out—please prep the gate," I said cheerfully, channeling Mom's firm but sweet tone.

They didn't even question it. Just nodded, muttered into their walkie-talkies, and turned to do exactly as I asked.

I almost laughed right then. Too easy.

Turning on my heel, I walked back into the house and snatched Mom's brown beach hat off the coat rack. That, the key, and my phone—that was all I had. But it was enough.

As I passed the grand living room, I took it all in—the tall French windows open to the garden, their curtains dancing with the breeze. A massive stone fireplace sat cold and unused, and ivory couches were arranged around a vintage coffee table piled with old hardcovers. The scent of dried lavender drifted from the bowl of potpourri on the mantel. It should've felt warm, comforting.

But to me, it felt like a velvet cage.

I moved faster, headed toward the basement stairs.

The air grew cooler as I descended into the garage. Rows of sleek, expensive cars lined the space like sleeping beasts. The only problem? I had no idea which one the key belonged to.

I clicked the button.

A white car blinked in the far corner—sleek, low, impossibly shiny. Audi R8. Max had once gasped over it when she saw Mom driving it. "That's not a car, Mia. That's a spaceship with wheels," she said.

Well, guess who's flying it today?

I rushed over and slid into the leather seat, tossing on Mom's hat for good measure. My hands were shaking as I gripped the wheel.

The garage door groaned open.

Before I could overthink it, I started the engine. The car purred to life, and just like that, the cage cracked.

I was out.

As I pulled past the gate, one of the guards actually saluted. I could barely contain the grin on my face. Me. Me! I was actually doing it. This was it. The wind in my hair, the sun on my face, the world ahead—wide, open, free.

But then I glanced at the glove compartment.

Curious, I flipped it open.

There, tucked neatly inside, was a small handgun. Cold, sleek, and unmistakable. I froze.

What the hell, Mom?

Beside it were a pair of designer sunglasses. I snatched those quickly and shoved them onto my face like they could shield me from the questions suddenly crowding my head.

I didn't have time to panic. Not now. Not yet. I'd deal with the gun later.

For now, I had the keys. I had the road. I had freedom.

I leaned back in the seat, heart pounding.

Then blinked.

Wait… where the hell am I even going?